Silver Magnolias
by TuscanyRose
Summary: In the summer of 1827, Santana was sent to live with her grandmother in England not long after a personal tragedy. But, after another tragedy, Santana ends up in Ohio with her cousins and a group of interesting people. One of them is Brittany Pierce. Brittana. Kurtbastian.


A/N: Hello, everyone! This fanfiction has been an idea in my head for so long, so I decided to finally write it. It's set in the 1800's, so I am trying to use proper English here, but most of the more important dialogue is written simply. Also, pay attention to the dates in this story, as I plan on doing flash backs( which will be written in _Italix_, and dreams will have warnings in the chapter A/N, as they are written in _Italix_ too) and I will flash foward a little as we progress into the story.

Summary: In the summer of 1827, Santana was sent to live with her grandmother in England not long after a personal tragedy. But, after another tragedy, Santana ends up in Ohio with her cousins and a group of interesting people. One of them is Brittany Pierce.

**Pairings: Brittana, Established Klaine, Kurtbastian, Established Puckleberry(Sort of), Mentions of Quick and Sachel, Fuinn, and Major Santana/Sam & Santana/Jesse Friendship.**

**Warnings: Character death, Infedility/Cheating, Abusive Relationships(Kurt/Blaine), Alcoholism, Mentions of Sexual/Emotional Abuse, Mentions of Drug Trades, Unhealthy Relationships(Puck/Rachel) and Mentions of Suicide Attempts.**

**Rating: M**

All warnings will appear throughout the chapters. If these things rub you the wrong way, skip those parts of the story. Most pairings will criss-cross and fallout throught the story. So if you hate some of the pairings, many of them will evolve or won't last. But _Brittana and Kurtbastian _are solid pairings. But if you like Klaine, this story is not ideal, but it has romantic moments, if not a little dark/angsty.

Now, this A/N is getting far too long, so, enjoy!

* * *

><p><span>~Prologue~<span>

_xxx_

_June, 1827_

_xxx_

The first time Santana sees her grandmother, it is not under the circumstanses she would have wished.

It's a cloudy day, but the air is sticky with a humidity most unusual for early summer in England; most people would see it as an early rise of the ocean and sun- Santana feels it to be a personal welcoming of sorts.

Heat is overbearingly apparent in the air, and even in the concealed space of Sir Kent's rented carriage, she can still feel it, proud and strong, beating down on her tan skin like a tropical wave pulling her under. There's a certain tension in the atmosphere; something strange and nervous, like a boy's first day working in the City. It comes with a bitter taste in her mouth, and an ill feeling of sickness set low in her abdomen.

Oh, Santana knows she's in for just a _lovely _ride through the Villiage.

Putting aside the strong waves of nauscia pulsing through her stomach, she turns slightly to the side, adjusting her large blue skirt and the matching floppy hat, to stare through the unscreened window of the carriage. Heat aside, it's ultimitely a quite lovely day in the 're in a different town now, perhaps Harem or Renings, and Santana assumes she must have dozed off a bit ago; they're a long way from Bellindale now. She's not quite sure how to feel about that at the moment, being so far from home- from the place she lost her first tooth and got her first silver coin in return, the place where she recieved her first Lady's gown; bright yellow and an overbearing pink bow to match. There are many memories there, Santana realizes, outside of the traveling and tourism, there was a place known as 'home,' the only one she's ever known.

And now all that is being ripped away from her and sold for a reasonable price, the collectables given to a woman she doesn't even _know_._  
><em>

It isn't as if she has anything against her grandmother; it's the fact that she's a woman that she's only ever seen pictures of, a person she's never met. And all of her memories and milestones are just a pawn, a part of England's land that her grandmother will undoubtedly sell for double of whatever good ridance gives to her. She doesn't _know _the woman, but she knows that money is valued at this time in history, and that's worth just as much in her opinion.

Santana's not bitter just because of her parents' death; she's bitter because she had no time to mourn, no time to grieve, and was swept away in a carriage, sent to this _stranger_, with no time to process the sudden change of events.

And actually, it isn't bitterness she feels- it's _anger.__  
><em>

Furiousness, actually, and the fact that Sir Kent- a supposed 'Family Friend' with a pot belly and unyeilding habit to sweat when happy- had so easily allowed the Workers to put her house on the market and send her away without a thought just adds to the belief that this is all just a pawn in England's little money game, that her parent's death is just another investment to the country. It's the little things like this that make her resent the British on her father's side(and really, how a Spanish woman and an Englishman ever came to be in order to make her father to start with... well, she supposes she'll never know).

Santana takes a deep breath and averts all of her thoughts to the cheerful, happy town the carriage is rolling through. It's a town called Kellensberge, according to the stained white flag that hangs on a pole, and it's full of trees and grassland and many, many miles of country stretched out behind the houses(They all line up neatly, Santana notices, as if trying to hide the acres of country land, trying to keep it their little Town Secret). They're neat little white houses, never more than two stories, and they all have little porches with either women making crochet, or men winding down with cigars or expensive liquors from the small shop down in the town square. The children run free amongst the trees and grassy parts of the town, being partially mindful of the roads, but mostly focusing on running as much as they can as soon as they can so they can rest, and then repeat it all over again. Santana smiles whistfully; she remembers playing until she couldn't breathe steadily and her little legs ached for rest. She remembers what it felt like to have no bounderies, no limits, and to posess complete and utter freedom within herself.

Oh, how the times change.

They pass through the town of Kellensberge and into a new town in the Villiage, one that looks busier and is really, _certainly _louder than the last few. The horseman turns a little to look at her through the large screenless window infront of her, observing her with a soft smirk. "Look around, m'lady," he says, his voice thoroughly amused at the wonder on her face. "This is the City."

The City is...well, _the City_. There isn't any other way to describe it at first sight, but it gets steadily bigger and grander as the carriage rides further along. The first thing Santana registers is a man, perhaps from the Circus, spitting fire from his mouth to a crowd of dangerously close, yet still awed customers. Across from the man and his custumers, there are little carts set up, selling special little delecacies of England, as well as pies and fluffy breads. A woman that goes by the name _Bree_(if the flag stretched across the cart behind her that reads, '_Madam Bree Tells All_' is anything to go by) sits at her own little stand, holding a man's palm, colorful cards spread out in front of her. She looks like a Gypsy of sorts, her skin just a bit darker than Santana's, and her features sharp and beautiful. There is a brief moment where her hazel eyes meet Santana's brown ones and Santana holds her breath. The woman smirks.

There's a little shopping center of sorts set up away from all of t foods and entertainment, filled with sparkly decoration and expensive pendants, sultry-looking dresses hanging from a large rack.

_The people dress differently here, _Santana thinks. She can't help but notice the jewels and sparkles that sprinkle the womens' corsets, the dark feathers placed in their hair. The men wear strange shoes and style their hair backward with something that looks overly shiny. She hears a laugh, and then the horseman says(well, yells, just to be heard over the noise), "Yes, m'lady, that they do," and _oh_...she must have said that out loud.

Santana adjusts her hat and fixes her eyes on the back of the horseman. "Why? Why do they dress so..."

"I believe the word you are looking for is eccentric m'lady," the horseman says, a smirk still fixated on his lips. "The City people dress so outragously because they believe that this is what everyone will be wearing eighty, perhaps even a hundred years from now. Very open-minded, the City people- they are free spirits."

Santana listens carefully and quirks a brow. "And society...we just...accept this?"

This earns a booming laugh from the man. He sends an amused look her way. "Why, they wouldn't be caught _dead _wearing such things out anywhere else; they'd probably be put down. This is just for a bit of fun, and some amusement from any travelers like yourself, m'lady."

Santana flinches at the word _'death' _and steals one last glance at the people of the City.

She is silent for the rest of the ride through.

_xxx_

They pass two more towns that Santana doesn't even bother remembering the names of, and then pull up on a little dirt road that seems to only wind upward. She can't seem to spot any towns up ahead, so she sends a curious glance to the horseman.

"How far until the next town?" She asks, brushing her dark hair from her face. There's miles and miles of road around them, but no sign of any upcoming civilization.

"There aren't any more, m'lady," he replies. "It seems your trip is coming to a close. Look; the Villiage manners are up ahead."

Santana does look, and her heart beats that much quicker at the sight of dozens of manners, big and small, surrounding the carriage and the long winding road. There aren't any store, probably because the space is specialized for the Villiage manners _only _and nothing else. She supposes they all travel to the last town for food and supplies, or have them shipped in every other day. It seems likely; from what Santana has seen, everyone occupying the manners obviously have money.

_I wonder if they all vie off of orphaned grandchildren, _she thinks bitterly, eyeing the pretty houses with disdain. She can't wait to meet this grandmother od her's, so she can demand why she thinks she has the right to treat the house she made memories in like another pawn for money. She wants answers, will force answers if she needs to. It's more than a house to Santana- it's a _home._

_And it seems I have a new one, _she thinks as they pull up infront of a grand white manner, decorated with flowerbeds and pretty knick-knacks that look hommade.

"Well, m'lady," the horseman says, mounting his horse and looking back at her. Santana gets a good look at his stubbly face and a toothy grin as he faces her fully for the first time the entire journey. "Your trip ends here."

Her first steps out of the carriage feel light and airy, like a strange sort of out-of-body experiance; as if she's watching herself from afar, contemplating her next movement in a seperate mind. She's vaguely aware of the warm heat of the horseman's heavy hand grasping hers politely as he leads her from the carriage, and then the coldness of nothing surrounding her palms when he retreats backward to grab her baggage from the small trunk hidden in the tail-end of the carriage.

It's not by any means Santana's first time in a foreign place-not even close. Her parents were nomads born and raised and believed that too much time spent in one place was stifling for the mind and 'stunts a child's growth,' as they'd always said.

"You must try to understand, _mi bebe_," her mother always said, "you can't relate to the other rosebushes if you don't know where their flowers come from."

She suddenly feels a pang of overwhelming sadness. Her mama and Papi aren't here now to give words of wisdom, to hold her and tell her she'll be alright.

They're somewhere in the cold sea, drifting farther and farther away from her by the minute.

Santana has never felt so cold.

"M'lady," she hears the horseman say, and she turns. Behind him, she sees two young women, no older than herself, walking swiftly down the winding pathway to the Manor, their curious eyes planted on her. They see that they've been caught staring and blush furiously, running down the pathway as fast as Santana's luggage will allow. The horseman is extending a hand to her.

"I have been told to walk you to the door," he says. "Madame Quenzuela _will_ meet you there.

_Quenzuela, _Santana thinks. _That's new. _Nevertheless, she takes his hand curtly and let's him lead her toward the Manor.

If Santana's palms are sweaty, the driver is gracious enough to not mention it.

It's a swift walk, and when they reach the doorstep Santana wishes they would have walked slower, or she would have tripped- -anything to give her more time to prepare her mind, fix her appearance.

Nothing could have prepared her for the first time she sees her grandmother's face.

The door swings open quickly, almost as if someone had been watching and waiting for them. The woman behind the door is nothing like what Santana had imagined.

The first thing Santana notices is how _young _she looks-Santana had been picturing sagging skin and warts in her mind ever since she found out she'd be living with her grandmother, but this woman has neither off those. Her skin is bright and radiant, a bit darker than Santana's from years of sun as a child, only slightly wrinkled from age. She stands tall, missing Santana by half an inch, her figure stuck somewhere between trim and pleasantly plump. But the most amazing thing about this woman is, unmistakably, her eyes.

They're a bright, bedazzling green, vibrant and beautiful. They look so young and joyful that, at first, Santana is taken aback.

For a moment, one fleeting moment, Santana is proud to have Alma as a grandmother.

"-very helpful, Julian, thank you. I'll take my granddaughter from here." It takes Santana a moment to realize Alma is _talking_. "I assume Sir Kent paid you generously?"

The horseman-Julian, apparently- nods. "'Course, m'lady. A great lump of bills."

"Excellent." Alma grins, charming dimples flashing. Santana wonders what she looked like as a young girl.

Alma orders Julian away shortly after that and then turns to Santana. A great lump forms in her granddaughter's throat, the intensity of those green eyes making her nervous. Alma sweeps her eyes over Santana, seemingly observing her appearance. Santana suddenly worries that her blue ensemble isn't up to par.

Alma simply gives a slight smile. "It really _is _a long ride. Go on up to your room and freshen up. I'll have Emily run you a bath."

Alma gives a short call("Emily!") and a short, dark-haired woman appears by her side, curtsying low and then straightening again.

"M'lady," she says, her voice sweet as Santana's mama's sugar cookies.

"Show Santana to her room. Lily and Blair 'ought to be done unpacking it by now."

"Yes, M'lady." Emily curtsies low once more, nods to Santana, and starts up down the hall.

Santana trails after her, heels clicking on the marble flooring, and looks around. The hallway is bright and open, a window or a painting placed here and there. The hall doesn't yet end, but a spiraling staircase is positioned on a far right corner and Emily starts up it, so Santana follows. As they're reaching the top of the stairs, Emily turns to Santana and speaks in her sweet honey voice, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Santana's breath hitches. She hadn't been expecting _that_. It's the very first time Santana's heard those words since Dorsey, the lawyer, had told her she'd be shipped off to her grand mother.

_"It's a terrible thing to go through," the mousy-looking man says. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Ms. Lopez. Call if you need the slightest thing."_

Santana thinks it's rather awful that only two people have acknowledged the fact that her parents are dead a lawyer and a maid. She suddenly feels like crying for the first time since Mr. Dorsey's office.

When she's silent for a beat too long, Emily looks up again. "I haven't said something wrong, have I?"

Santana quickly nods. "No," she croaks, then, again feeling a lump in hear throat, coughs and tries again. "No, rather, you said something very right."

Emily looks at her with an odd expression but Santana says no more, doesn't trust herself to without bursting into tears. Finally, they stop outside a door, the fifth one on the left. Emily retrieves a key from her apron and unlocks it quickly, opening the door for Santana. She curtsies, "M'lady."

Santana walks into the room and gasps. The room is bigger than large it's humongous, with crème walls beautiful marble floors. There is a four poster bed with baby blue sheets the color of Santana's dress, and a balcony across from it. Two french doors lie on either side of the room, which Santana assumes are the closet and bathroom.

Emily smirks. "There are rooms larger than this." She opens the door to what must be the bathroom and begins running water. "Lots of bubbles?" She calls.

"Certainly," Santana calls back, entranced by the view the glass doors of the balcony reveal.

Emily returns a minute later and walks straight over to Santana. Her hands freeze, hovering just above the starting strings of her bodice."M'lady?"

"What?" Confused, Santana glances over her shoulders. Emily looks nervous, and Santana wonders why if she's doing something as simple as helping her undress. "You don't have to ask, Emily. Go on."

With a shaky smile, Emily begins untying the strings, tugging and unknotting until Santana can breathe again. Shrugging off the dress, Santana grips the bedpost and nods over her shoulder in confirmation for Emily to start on the corset.

With the strings loose and the offending clothing no longer hugging her in a vice grip, Santana takes her first real breaths of air since Bellindale. "Oh, sweet Jesus," she gasps, letting go of the bedpost and turning to Emily. "Thank you."

Emily nods in response and turns to the two other French doors(the closet, Santana notes offhandedly) and pulls out a forest green ensemble. Swiftly, she walks into the bathroom, shuts off the water and returns to the room with a small silver bell and a key.

"Bath's ready, m'lady," she says and hands Santana the bell and key. "Ring this when you're done so I can help you dress, and here's your room key. Keep your door locked at all cost at night and when you're gone, m'lady-we get lurkers."

Santana barely has time to question what 'lurkers' means before Emily is gone, as quick as she game. She sighs, sets down her items and wanders into the bathroom, where the sugary sent of a bubble bath greets her. She quickly removes the corset and settles into the hot water, the tub so big and deep that Santana's body barely touches the sides or the bottom.

She breaths in deeply, and, in the safety of the bath and the quiet of the room, cries for the second time since her parents' death.

_xxx_

Alma Quenzuela is a quiet woman, entering her late sixties and the end of her Golden years. She'd lived alone for many years, her youngest child Jesus having left home with his wife Isabel nearly thirty years before, her husband dying shortly after. There was no denying she was wealthy-she had come from a long line of dynasties and powerful Spanish priests and ministers. Her mother, Sara, had raised her and her only other sibling Viktor under Christianity and taught them how to speak several different languages, how to read, and how to get along fine without father. She had done the same with her children, only_ with _her husband, Aliek. They raised all seven of their children well and watched proudly as, one by one their sons left for marriage and college and their daughters were courted.

Never in a million years had Alma expected to receive letter saying that her eldest daughter, Carolina, had died in a shipwreck going from England to Spain.

Or that she would becomes the guardian of her granddaughter, Santana Lopez.

She had been shocked, and extremely mournful for a few weeks. But after mindful thinking and some input from her best friend, Rose Ann, Alma sent a letter to the courthouse, telling them to take Santana out of Sir Kent's care and send her to the Quenzuela Manor. She had every room tested with different styles and furnishings and, after picking the right room, had it stocked with all the things a young woman might need- including two closetfulls of new dresses.

No longer would Alma be alone with just the maids and Rose Ann for company.

She'd have Santana and, in the same way, Santana would have her.

_xxx _

Santana sobs continue on long after the bathwater turns cold and the bubbles disappear. She stays in the water for the better part of two hours and by the time she exits the bathroom, she's as wrinkled as a prune. Wrapped up in a fluffy towel, she stands in the middle of the room and rings for Emily.

She's there in an instant, helping Santana into the black corset she'd picked for her, tugging and pulling a hard as she can. Santana hisses at the tight pressure, gasping as the corset sucks the life out of her. Emily tuts apologetically. "Sorry, m'lady"

"It's fine," Santana gasps out.

Like her parents being dead, like staying with her grandmother, like living without hher mama's warm laughs, she will have to get used to it.


End file.
